


unspoken, rewritten

by Lizlow



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 13:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21429073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlow/pseuds/Lizlow
Summary: He loves the stars, and watching as they give their first twinkle within the fading lines of the sunset. He loves the pictures they make alongside the moon's beams. And he thinks he loves the way this all reflects the smile she gives him. It's the same feeling - this fondness he has for the sky and when he looks at her. It's as though it's all in his orbit.And finally, finally, he has a way to say these words, not with his voice, but with a pen, a pen that can span a distance so much further than his eyes can see. Maybe even more than the world itself owns.
Relationships: Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	unspoken, rewritten

**Author's Note:**

> it's female byleth here, let's get that out here now. implied claude/byleth, probably, but it's like a 2 second mention, so we're not tagging it. 
> 
> I've been working on this for a while, probably since before I finished the game, and I'm finally getting it done! It's been through a lot of personal edits, but my basic idea was genuine communication between the both of them, even if they're far away! I love these two so very, very much and I tried my best to get that across!! This was fun to write!
> 
> I want them to be very bappy!!!

Orange fades into a dark blue, greeting many at the Monastery, and beyond it to include all of what is now a united Fódlan. It sings in a couplet with a renewed warning that it is about time to retire for the day. But even that much proves difficult for a sizable portion of the populace, as it is nights such as this, with nothing impending on the horizon other than what the hopeful next day holds, that leaves them restless with wonder. 

They are finally at peace, after five years of war. They can finally rest, after five years of battle. They finally have time to themselves, and they do not know what to do with it. 

Where are they to go? What are they to do? The sun has long been readied to set, but this... this is a new dawn for Fódlan, and for Cyril as well. 

There _ is _ much to be done, naturally. How did Claude put it? The newly-unified nation is like a baby. A newborn, crying, awaiting a guiding hand, and surely those of the army that have brought conclusions to the air and light to shadows must be in charge. For... yeah, those in the lead, there must be action. He feels like someone said that too, that there is responsibility for the victors to care for what remains of the shambles, so that those displaced don’t further lose their way. 

The war is finished, and everyone has begun to part ways, but they, _ they _ are not done. Not yet. Cyril himself is as busy as ever, but this is a chance moment of reprieve. And within it, he sits down, staring at the since-revealed stars, taking them in. He’s always really liked them, and he’s glad he’s gotten some time to come back up here. 

It lets him think about lots of things. 

Like... Like how these twinkles look even brighter than they did during the entire war time. The first time he really thought things looked this way was when he met Lady Rhea. Claude told him that the night the Professor returned, and the night of the day they won, the stars shone that way for him. Cyril supposes that him and Claude have that in common, looking at the sky. 

But well... if things are being technical and honest, the last time Cyril thought thing up there looked this special way... was the night he saw Lysithea smile for the first time. He can’t help but think that. It’s such a pretty smile! And he’s going to miss it; he’s going to miss it a lot. 

Thank goodness... Thank _ goodness _ Professor Hanneman promised to help look into her condition. Since they dealt with those... who slither in the dark..? That was their name, right? But, since they took care of _ them _ , they found that there could, very well, be a hope. And that’s all _ he _ wants for her, something that also kept him fighting during the war. In the end, maybe it _ was _ something more powerful than his drive to find Lady Rhea. 

She’d be glad for him, wouldn’t she? Seteth said so, that if he is seeking a path that makes him happy, then she’d be too. 

Everything, he’s allowed to process it, and he breathes it in. Clean, crisp air, _ welcomed_. Warmth greets him daily, he’s really proud of how far he’s come. 

“I gotta write her something before she leaves...” 

He can’t do that yet, put these words to paper, these thoughts and feelings he doesn’t quite fully understand. The starlight is simply not bright enough. It bars him from being able to even make out the lines, safely at least, because he’s been warned within his studies not to risk his eyesight by trying. He’s excited just thinking about it, and a smile curls within him. It’s a nice look - cute, really. 

Not that he really gets it - or likes it, when he gets teased like that!

Reading and writing, though, and pursuing his _ own life_, he can do it. He’s getting better at it. All thanks to those around him. ..._Especially _ Lysithea. 

His quiver is taken off his person, set back in his room alongside his bow. He’d usually has them with him, just in case something happens. There’s probably a straggler or two from opposing forces, but maybe here isn’t the right place to think they’d show up. But, regardless, how rare _ this _ display is overall, a passerby might note, for him to be sitting down with such an expression, but he deserves it. He’s learned that, that it’s important to get some rest. 

Cyril doesn’t immediately notice her presence. Maybe it’s because he’s so distracted, lost in these thoughts his hands cannot even permeate on paper, or maybe it’s because he’s already so comfortable with her that it’s just all right. 

“Cyril?”

Yes, it’s only when she speaks that he look toward her, and she shines just as bright - no, brighter - than the moon itself. Upon her face is that smile that he finds so pretty. Why is she smiling now? Does she like the stars too? He sure hopes so... because he’d like it if she likes lots of the things he does. 

Of course, he’s discovering those sorts of things still.

“Ah, evening, Lysithea!”

"Honestly, you should have put a better coat on! Or have a blanket, at least...” She’s holding her arms behind her back, for a reason that isn’t quite so clear. Cyril can toss a guess into the pool though, and assume it’s because she brought something to that exact tone with her. She’s still really bad at skirting around her crystal clear concerns, but that’s just something endearing about her. 

“Nah, don’t ya worry about me. I’m doing fine out here.” If he had been cold at all, he can no longer tell. His heart, his cheeks, they feel so light and warm.

“You really ought to get more rest.” 

“You too.” 

“I’ll try, so you better too! Now, may I sit here?”

“Go right ahead. I don’t mind,” Cyril answers her, thinking that, perhaps, the answer had been obvious. It’s really nice that she’s considerate enough to ask though. Why wouldn’t she be though? 

With his permission, she settles right down next to him. Normally, when they sit together, it’s meant that they were going to study, or go over instructions for shopping, but this change is one welcomed with the passing of war. They are responsible for themselves now, not a school, not every single voice’s future. But they can still help it all. That’s what these echoes remind them of. That’s what the glimmers are supposed to mean. 

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.” 

It’s probably that all that makes Cyril nervous though. Let _ anything _ be spoken. It’d be fine that way. Even if there’s a lot that doesn’t need to be vocalized. As much of their interactions have been wordless as chattered, so it’s survivable. 

Come to think of it, there’s one pressing question. One that should have an obvious answer, but he stills want to try to get it out there. 

“Hey, Lysithea? What’re ya gonna do, now... now that it’s over?”

“Me? I’m...” Lysithea takes a breath, letting her lungs fill with the cool air, “I’m going to go back to my family.”

“Makes sense. They must need ya, now that Fódlan’s situation is like this.” 

“Right. It’s something that needs to be done, quickly,” Lysithea adds, her last word almost inaudible. She must mean, because of... Well, she really doesn’t need to think that way, or speak that way. Her parents will be fine, because she’s got to be too. “Cyril, what are you going to do?”

“Stay here, for now.”

He’s thought about this. Claude gave him an offer, to go with him to _ where _ he’s going, but Cyril couldn’t accept it. Not with so much left undone for him. It’s the same as Claude’s reasoning then, isn’t it? He feels things for him are squared. 

But, Cyril also feels that his home, his real home, is somewhere are here. 

“I expected that answer! You like it here, right?”

“I dunno. Lots of the people I like are here at least. Not everyone is staying, but we fought for this place.” 

“We sure did! I’m glad it’s over...”

Maybe, maybe it’s also because he doesn’t know where else he _ could _ go. He’s got people to help, and so leaving doesn’t feel right. Not when the person he wants to leave the least is acting like this might well be their final part. 

One, two, three... There must be hundreds, thousands, of songs supporting them. They all are out to tell him what he can’t write down, and so many of them are too quick for him to reel in. There’s one phrase he does shoot down, precise with a single arrow which, in turn, pierces him too. It’s the sort of thing he’s _ heard _ explained before, but it’s not like he’s really be able to dwell on it. 

A acclimation of attachment, respect, hope, longing - it’s _ so _ many things. The war is finally finished, comes the chorus, and so the target was allowed to shift to this. The war is finally finished, and so his excellent eyes can be opened to himself. To his soul’s shouts. 

The war is finally finished, and so _ they _ move forward. 

“I-I think I realized something today, Lysithea. Something real important.”

“Huh? What is it, Cyril?”

Cyril contemplates on it. Those words he still doesn’t really get too much, yet he knows that they’re ‘right’ all the same. They’re the kind he’d be teased for but, even so, he doesn’t want to feel any different way about her. Lying to yourself is no way to live. He’s learned that. So, that reason floats until it’s just below the surface, bobbing. The reason he gets all fuzzy when he looks at her. Perhaps, it’s been there all along, considering the first thought that went through his mind when she told him no one else had _ ever _ complimented her on her smile, not in the way he did. 

She really doesn’t give herself enough credit. She never has. 

Surely there are others that noticed it. He’s _ living _ it now. Maybe that’s also why he’s gotten so scared, hearing her talk so distantly. They’ve made it to a new dawn, so she can’t just up and _ die _ , not after surviving this long. She’s going to have time for lots of things! And this won’t be their last in-person meeting! He wants to make sure of it. He’d _ like _ it if, one day, they could learn and live through more experiences, together. In the figure, he wants to read more, longer things, aloud to her, like she’s done for him. Would she smile like she does when she reads to him? Picturing that much causes him to lose footing in his words, his throat lumping up. 

“I...” How does he want to say it? Can he even piece together the phrase yet, or does it evaporate to mist, escaping so easily from his grasp, leaving only choking sentences in its absence? ...In that case, maybe he’ll save them for a letter down the road. Maybe they’d make things awkward, so he’ll pocket his efforts, just in case, and work to gather it all up so he can say things right, so the future looks even brighter for her when it comes. “I... I’m gonna miss... being able to study beside ya.” 

“Cyril...” Lysithea says, pausing just after his name. “Me too! You really are a fast learner. You’ve done so well!” Somethings, she really can never say enough. 

“Thanks. I like learning a lot.” It’s thanks to her, that much is very certain. Before, he wouldn’t even have asked. There have been others, too, that have been gradually supplementing his education. Ashe found manageable books after he noticed Cyril reading one day, giving him lots and lots of suggestions, and then Cyril would start very, very slowly going through them. It’s still a different feeling though. _That’s what friends_ _are for_ is all the same, but... “We’ve been to cover lots of things, but I feel like there’s more we could have.”

The night’s chilly breeze settles in, and gently, gently the mood tides over to embrace the distant shore. Visible guidance for any wyvern rider, it kisses the sky and envelopes all feeling into a single word: Comfort. Cyril can parse together those letters, and he’d trace them cautiously with his fingers, tangibly writing them on the large board he’s given, but he no longer wishes to move for Lysithea has spread something over the both of them. It’s a simple blanket, one they’ve likely passed around between each other before, on nights not far from this. 

“I’m really glad you do. If we had more time, I... I... oh, there’s never going to be...” 

When she speaks, it’s laced with sleepiness. Unconsciously, Cyril scoots just an inch closer, so that he might support her when that kind of tired hug overtakes her. A lean, heavy eyelids that she fights with all her strength, but that is a battle she should not keep up. He doesn’t know exactly what she was about to say, but he has an idea of it. And she certainly has enough to rest. They’ll make time for that, and for as much else as they can. 

Sound slumber. She deserves it. He reaches over and greets the cold momentarily, he can securely tuck her opposite side in. There’s no use in allowing her to lose it, and to become so cold that she catches ill. 

Calm heart, Cyril finds an uncountable amount of moments passing, and his attention drifts to the sky above. That is the site where the twinkles, far as his eyes can see, begin to surround the like rain. These little instances pour for the basking. No taunts, only truths. Never have they been any clearer. 

He’d say he like this to last forever, but there’s just so many more things to do. _ Life_... cannot be contained to a single moment alone. Not for him, and not for her either. 

So as nice of a though as this lasting for a bit longer is, he thinks that she’d be able to rest better if she got to sleep in her room. He doesn’t have to wake her up. It’s late, so there shouldn’t be anything too embarrassing for her about being carried back, right? Cyril lifts her in his arms, much like... what was it? Those stories Ashe talked about a lot. _ Oh, right _ . He holds her in his arms much like a, _ um _, knight would for a princess. Mindful now, make sure she’s bundled up in the blanket, so the cold doesn’t bite her body and grief her. She needs to return home healthy as she can be, so it wouldn’t do for a cold of all things to stall that out. 

There’s nothing the late hour’s weather can do to him to weaken this trek. His body is much too full of assured bliss to notice it. 

“I’m gonna miss ya, Lys,” Cyril whispers these words to each and every single light. Not a single one of them avoids scribbling it down, forever and ever. “I’m gonna miss ya lots.” 

Different spaces under the same sky they’ll be. So close, yet so far. 

* * *

Only a few days _ after _ Lysithea leaves is the day Cyril begins to work on his first letter to her. He plans on learning how to do plenty of things, so much more than he already has, in her absence. Read more, know more, live more, that way... if he ever sees her again, _ when _ he sees her again, he can show her how much _ more _ he’s grown up. 

They were study buddies, then allies on the battlefield, and for now, penpals. Probably. If he can get the words on paper, in any decent sense. 

What exactly is there to say to her when she just left though? About... anything, he supposes, as long as he’s trying his best. Cyril thinks he can manage that much. 

He looks at the painting of the puddle-riddled church grounds Igantz gave him, the finished product gifted for his room only. Igantz made him promise to never let it leave, or even really to never show anyone else, but that’s a little difficult when he’s been able to talk to so many more people. 

There are days he recalls, just by looking at it, though. Days where he saw her walking with way too many books in her hands, days where he helped her carry those too. But, soon, it came to just... walking with her, because she’d catch up to him as he’d work, and he just couldn’t tell her to go away.

> _ Dear Lysithea, _

Finally, letters form on the page. They look right. He knows her name is right for sure. He had asked her how to spell it, because he always wanted to make sure it was right. Perhaps, it was one of the first words he had become certain about. The letters look the most familiar there, and in there formed a stronger footing to branch out from. 

Just like her smile, her name is really pretty too. He’s seen her handwriting, both her really fancy kind, and the kind she’s used to help him read it easier too. 

> _ After you left, many of the others did too. Even some of the knights. Shamir too. But with the Professor telling us that we can do what we want, it makes sense. _
> 
> _ I am going to stay here. I have a lot to fix up. There is no job I am not up for. _
> 
> _ You already knew that. _
> 
> _ I want that walkway to look as good as when you and the others walked it. Seteth said that one day, we should be able to open the school again. I think that would make people happy. _

This first letter isn’t long. But it took him a lot of time to write it, because he wanted each letter to be legible, because he had to keep double-triple-checking the letters. He sure hoped he was spelling everything right. Really, his handwriting is still pretty sloppy, in comparison to the first letter he gave her, but that’s okay. He’s getting better. He’s having fun doing it. 

He couldn’t wait to write something though, and that much made him nervous. There’s more he wants to say. There always will be, he thinks. Maybe that’s another reason he had taken so long to get these on the paper. 

> _ I will tell when we get more done. And I wanted to say that it feels strange that you are not here. My wyvern misses you as well. I hope things go well back home for you. _
> 
> _ Thank you. _

Is that how one should end a letter? He can’t just hand it to her this time, or leave it in her room anymore, so he really isn’t sure. It should work out, right? How is it going to get to her though? Maybe he can ask one of the others to send it with the rest of the letters? 

Actually, Lorenz hasn’t left yet. It’ll probably reach her faster if he hands it to him. He’s just got to ask him, right? If he remembers when they talked about the map, Lorenz and Lysithea didn’t live too far away from each other. 

Yeah, he’ll do that. 

“Hey, Lys... I mean, Lysithea. Some day, I wanna write about how pretty the stars look. I should be able to do that much soon, right? By the time ya get back... heck, maybe even by time you get this letter here, I’ll get better. I think,” Cyril says, aloud, but it’s to himself all the same, “I think those are the words that are gonna be way easier to write than say.” 

He stands up folding up the letter and putting it in an envelope he got when he asked for the paper from Seteth. Lorenz shouldn’t be too difficult to locate. Knowing him, he’ll probably be making some sort of deal about leaving. That’s just him though, and considering what Cyril saw of him before the war, he’s changed a lot too. 

And as he walks out of his room to deliver the letter to someone that will hopefully be able to take it to its recipient, he moves down the pathway that is currently in some bits of ruins. It’s still got room to form all those little puddles and, like Ignatz said, that’s beautiful in its own right. It’d be great to see it all clean though, even if it’s all the memories that really supplement the atmosphere of places like this. He understands that so much more now. 

There’s lots to make up to everyone for keeping him around, for listening to him, accepting him, for allowing him to be their ally, their friend, with an unbarred level of trust. He really likes the bunch of them, and he really... feels like he’s found a home with them all. So... So when Lady Byleth says that he is free to decide his faith, and fate, as well, he’s able to dwell upon what that means. 

That’s really encouraging to him. 

* * *

“Now, I must thank you for accepting my tea offer, Lysithea.”

“Yes, yes, as long as there’s nothing funny about this, Lorenz!”

“Worry not, for this is merely a relaxed reunion of former classmates. Noble duty need not hinder a pleasant meeting.” 

Lysithea folds her arms, but soon she finds herself losing tension. Her body is much too stiff as it is. The tea Lorenz brought must have been carefully crafted and hand-selected by the host himself, so it undoubtedly is of the utmost quality. Was it chosen for balance? To support her health? Most likely, for he is close enough to be aware now. Still, she has to question why it was brought on so suddenly. 

There is not an immediate answer. Is this political? Even though they have merely settled back in? Looking at her plans, she... well, there are people she can rely on to preserve the territory, and Lorenz will be one of them. That much is certain. 

Attention to detail, they go through such proper motions that it nearly suffocates her. Fortunate, Lorenz knows when to break it, and he speaks with such assurance that she can’t help but almost believe him. “We shall all see the future better. Please forgive my imprudence, but I must inject this, have you been mindful of your health?”

“I... have.” 

“Why, but you seem no more spry than the day you departed Garreg Mach.” 

“And there you are running yourself ragged again! You know the whole nation can afford to sort itself better... unlike... but, well, I’m feeling fine, thank you!”

Lorenz grants her a mere nod. Holding his tongue better on a topic where he hasn’t the right to talk is very much something he should do. He is quite aware of how hard-working and strong-hearted she is, and she’d not ever give up However, this also draws him back to all his intentions. 

“Is that so? If that is the case, then I am very much relieved. And, so would the others be. Are your goals still to ensure ease to your parents and people? Surely you are aware that I might pay assistance in that alignment?” 

“I am capable of -- I mean, thanks, Lorenz.”

“It is no problem. There need not be disorderly ruin laying in the wait. We are friends, are we not? It is the least I can do.”

“Yes, right.” 

“And speaking of friendship, I have a delivery from a dear one of yours,” Lorenz says, and he produces from his person a sealed envelope, and he hands her it as soon as it is revealed. There is no sender on the front of it, merely her name. The writing on it most definitely _ does _ not belong to Lorenz, nor does it belong to Byleth. No, not at all.

Lysithea recognizes the handwriting instantly. It’s Cyril’s. It has to be. Her reaction is immediate; it must be opened, must be read, regardless of the company present. He would not have chosen this moment to give it to her unless he was comfortable with it. 

The short letter, though notably longer than the very first one he wrote, swells her heart. Why wouldn’t it? There she sits, reading each sentence, line, word, _ letter _ with the most pristine care. She slowly sweeps over them, as though she’s finally allowed the racing meter within her to stop - as though she can believe, briefly, that she has more than a blip left in this world. 

For the joy she spills, Lorenz offers his handkerchief. It is as one noble gentleman should. There are more deliveries Lorenz was so kindly tasked with. Preliminary evaluations of what was left behind in Shambhala, well-wishes from Byleth, but those, those can wait. There is no need to overwhelm things when they can be allowed to be taken in gradually. 

“You can do it... you’re really doing so well!” Lysithea responds to the words on paper, aloud. “And please do let me know! I’ll keep in touch.” 

She saves her final response for her thoughts._ It’s strange without you, too _. His warmth beside her remains, those hands placing a blanket over her shoulder, the carrying back to her room that she does not recall well, and the pleasant dream that faded to a lonely note. Everything is here, on the paper. 

As soon as she can, she’ll not hesitate to respond in proper. 

“There it is! How lovely it is to see a healthy color return to you,” Lorenz makes his comment, “I sincerely hope the words you have read bring you a restful night.” 

Lysithea says no more. She leaves no energy, nor attention, of her own to speak back, either. She simply reads over Cyril’s short letter again. Much to look forward, much to see change. There are so many hard-working, caring allies in their orbit, but what are they in this deck? Is there truly a chance that she can see things, healthy and old? 

According to what she is able to read in depth later, there indeed is. She’ll research what she can of what Professor Hanneman has sent her from his own logging, and work toward a conclusion. The future is busy, no longer does a full wrap of bleakness choke her, chain her. 

No, it is light, hand-crafted, replaced. Rough around the edges, but the most-well meaning possible. 

* * *

In Cyril’s hands is a very specific item – an old fishing rod. It’s different than Seteth’s old one. The repairs on it look rougher than what he can do. It’s a homely rod though, and it belongs to none other than the newly-chosen leader of this land. He’s doing his best to assist her, just as promised. Just as he feels is right.

“Professor – no, no, I mean, Lady Byleth…”

“You can call me what you like, Cyril,” Byleth responds, giving him a small smile.

“Thanks a bunch!” Cyril says, relieved. “I’m gonna stick to calling ya ‘_ Professor’ _then. At last for now, until things settle down more. Is there anything else ya need?” He makes sure she’s received the fishing rod while he’s asking that, and watches as she looks over it with a hint of fondness. She’s also gotten more sentimental over the years, huh?

“Hm,” Byleth taps her chin, thinking deeply, before she shakes her head, immediately after turning and setting off to fishing. “Not anything else for me. You’ve done enough.”

“Really? Ya sure?”

As though she’s breathing with the bobs of her line, she looks at Cyril, peering into him with her eyes wide, also unblinking. He’s sure she could catch a big fish without even looking, if she so desired. “Yes, I’m proud of you, Cyril. If there is anything to ask, then I want you to be happy.”

“Me?”

“Yes.” A simple presentation of her hand forward, the serious play of the air.

Happiness… what makes it? Of course, the obvious has long since been laid bare. There’s been plenty more that’s made him happy. No more pulling himself through the works, thinking it’s all he could do – because there’s _ more_. Now, he’s ‘happy’ when he’s doing his best, when he knows he’s learning, living. When he dares to think that there’s the best future come.

Off to his room he goes, after a stop into the library to pick up a few more books, one Ashe recommended, and a few he remembered Lysithea liking.

> _ Dear Lysithea, _
> 
> _ I still like learning. I like it very much. _
> 
> _ The Professor said she wanted me to be happy. I think after we fix up the school and open it again, I am going to become a student here. Learning makes me happy and, that way, I will still be here for you to send letters to. _
> 
> _ The Professor will not be full time, I think, but she will still be here to be a teacher, so I can learn from her, like you did. _
> 
> _ Now it can be real. _
> 
> _ I am looking forward to being able to tell you about what being a student is like. I think I want to become a knight here. I want the title to come for me after I do the right work for it. _
> 
> _ I will write again soon. _
> 
> _ Cyril _

It was not with full intention, but it works out quite well that certain people in their lives continue to frequent Garreg Mach. Among them is Lorenz, who, perhaps, would have once felt some reluctance in being often called upon as a messenger. But Cyril didn’t know who else to ask, aside from him and Hilda. Besides, as one of the primary faces for what was once Alliance territory, he’s one of the most accessible.

For the times he isn’t present, Cyril decides to directly put his letters in with Professor Hanneman’s work. Cyril can’t be prevented from taking on the task of helping him, too, after all.

So much is on his plate, and he’s looking forward to it all. It’s a _ want_, no longer a lie that disguises itself as one. It’s freedom, isn’t it?

* * *

> _  
Dear Lysithea, _
> 
> _ I am sad that you cannot be here. Being in these halls with these clothes on makes me think about what it would have been like if we both went to class together. We could have, if things were like they are now when we were just kids. _
> 
> _ Maybe things would not have been too different. We studied together. _
> 
> _ Remember what you said? That thing about our worlds not being that different? I think I ge what you meant by it better now. Here, we are all at the same level. We are just people from all over, trying to get further. There is nothing lower about it. There is something different. We are not together. I guess I was right about it not lasting forever. _
> 
> _ But maybe we really can make so that we- _
> 
> This letter is one where he stops himself. Does he want to say that yet? Do those words sound okay? He isn’t sure yet.

“I hope one day I can… we might do something about that, but…” _ Not now_.

But what can he do about this doubt that cuffs him? What should he write instead? Think, think of the words of the people he can turn to, the ones that can and have assisted him without too much judgement, too much teasing.

_ Oh! _ It comes to him, so he folds up the paper and makes his move. First, a thought on the person he’d ask, if time was okay. He can hear it now, too. He’d say something like, ‘ _ Professor! Can ya look this over for me? I’m writing to someone and I’m real nervous about it. _’

And Lady Byleth would absolutely agree, because she’s good at this sort of thing. Cyril had decided that some things really can never change; Byleth really _ will _ make time to teach the students at the academy through lectures, so it functions. He trusts her. He’s glad she’s here still. Finally, _ finally_, does he feel like he think about… that he can _ ask _ questions unbarred. No drawings folded into the counselors box, but a genuine advice-seeking speak up.

What would she tell him? Would she comment on his handwriting, and how endeared she is that he’s pouring his heart out into something like this. Him, the boy who used to never ask, because he didn’t want people thinking he wasn’t enough or that he was incapable, nervous, opening up, accepting that it’s okay.

No longer hiding, these papers are enough.

And these words are for Lysithea.

“This is real embarrassing… so but… Lady Byleth is right, it makes me happy.”

This is how he feels. If he’s asked about that, he’d answer without thinking. It isn’t doubted, not at all.

He then sets the first draft in his desk, and sets another piece of paper before him. He also pulls out the journal that Seteth gave him recently when he saw Cyril writing on his own. _ A young, exploring mind should have the slate to process_. He’ll write in it after he rewrites the letter, but he wants to be prepared in advance. He’s been using it to write about what happens daily, even if it’s nothing much, even if he says such things in his letters. But, he’s been keeping the many letters he’s written, but never sent, with it too.

> _ Dear Lysithea, _
> 
> _ I have been a student here for a few moons now. Wearing this uniform makes me think about walking beside you when you wore one too. _

* * *

> _Dear Lysithea, _
> 
> _ Today, I officially became a Knight. Though the Knights that are still here have been telling me that I have been one all along. Maybe that is true, but I have worked for this. I am really happy it is a title I properly have now. _
> 
> _ I do not think I am like the knights in the books Ashe likes a lot. Those stories have gotten easier to read. I can see why he enjoys them so much. He probably told you to read it, or maybe you have read it, but I will put the title on a separate sheet here, after I copy it down, so you will have it elsewhere. _
> 
> _ Being a student without you here felt different. But I had a lot of fun. The other students were mostly very nice. I think I made more friends, even if we might not see each other a lot. Fódlan has steadied out more lately. _
> 
> _ I am glad there is not very much fighting anymore though. I am ready, just in case, since it is my stated job now. I want peace to stay though. That is a better world for you to recover in. _

* * *

> _Dear Cyril, _
> 
> _ Thank you for these letters these past years. You have gotten so much better! I am so very proud of you. _
> 
> Her handwriting is shaken, much less neat than before. She’s weakened, but everything comes soon, sooner, so she has to be strong. Her letters have been getting a little shorter, as her breathing has become more rigged, but they’ll try what they can once she’s reached her next destination. It’s okay. The preparations should be complete by the time she’s arrived. That’s what she was told last time Hanneman was near. 
> 
> She’s long made her peace with death, but she’s far more interested in living, in being able to maybe consider slowing down. 
> 
> _ I will be returning to the monastery soon, and I will not be going back to Ordelia territory after. It is no longer mine to keep. It will be good hands. This is what I will be speaking to the Professor about, since it is what she needs to know. _
> 
> _ I hope I can see you. I hope this letter reaches you before I arrive. _
> 
> _ Again, thank you. Thank you so, so much for talking to me. For being my friend. _

* * *

Cyril can’t contain his excitement. This latest letter from her brought him such wonderful news! She told him those words he hadn’t expected to read quite yet, the ones that he thought would stay unwritten for years to come, the ones he thought didn’t yet have a chance to be uttered, so he almost couldn’t believe it. 

_ She’s really going to be here! She’s really coming! _

They hadn’t _ seen _ each other in person since the day she left, right after the war. So, within this swirling pot of emotions is an _ extremely _ nervous heart. His palms are sweaty, so he’s trying to shake it off before she arrives - well, before he _ sees _ her personally, at least. He can watch the horizon for her convoy, and he’d be the first to see it. Though, saying that much means that he’ll be watching until she’s there. 

There’s so much he wants to tell her, everything the letters covered and so much more beyond it. They’re the words he _ tried _ writing down, but they never sounded right, looked right, read right, so they were folded right away. Maybe they won’t sound great aloud either. But... there’s a lot he doesn’t really have to get about this sort of situation. 

_ Go with your gut. It’s an extension of your heart yelling at you, because it doesn’t have enough room in your lungs. _

The Professor herself told him that she’d understand if he wanted to leave once he saw Lysithea again, and really, he isn’t entirely sure what’s going to happen. He wants to make sure that all that he helped Professor Hanneman with didn’t go to waste, but he also doesn’t know Lysithea’s answer. Is Byleth sure, though? He’s a Knight now, one of the highest ranking ones actually! Can she afford it, after that recent skirmish? 

Wait, what is he talking about? Of course she can. If anyone can, it’s her. Claude’s back too, swooped right in on wyvern back. There’s a lot folded and stuffed into the creases underlying that, but Cyril doesn’t have the focus and time to unpack them. He’ll get a chance to later, maybe, because well... now, he thinks that if he’s going to follow his dreams, these coming plans are part of it. 

He looks up at the clouds. Within it, he once again sees her. There’s a special object in his pouch, and he touches it, asking the sky for more than fleeting strength. 

In the blink of an eye, her arrival is there. Just like he thought would happen, he isn’t able to be the first to greet her, aside from a smile and wave, because she immediately went to talk to Byleth, and then to Professor Hanneman, but that’s okay. These hours - turned to days of being so close yet so far - give Cyril time to write more down, specially something that have come to mind the moment he saw her in the flesh. 

A pair to this present, and to future ones too. 

As soon as he’s able to, he goes to where he can see her, a place where promised meetings can happen, and they mean forever. It was written on a note, penned in weakened but familiar handwriting, slipped underneath his door. 

“Lys!” He hurries over to her. She looks a little unsteady right now, but he received notice from Hanneman that she might look that she might look that way, since she’s recovering. But there was a lot of success in this. That alone is a lot of hope. 

The moonlight flutters down upon her. It’s a curtain that parts as he approaches, and it halts him in his tracks. It shines in her hair, gifting the illusion of it having more pigment than before. Still it is very white, but the brightness itself, dotted in with her healing, causes it - _ her _ \- to look more and more vibrant. Whether this is a falisty spurred by hope, a prediction outlining what _ was _ and what _ could _ once again _ be _, or a dirty trick, Cyril doesn’t know, but she, she is no mirage. Beautiful, truly, this all is. A veil wraps around her weaving through the fingers she has raised. 

Is she testing what she has left? 

_ Please, don’t strain yourself! _

The droplets catch on the moon’s lines, and they trace them as they fall. Nothing but a weak glimmer, and it’s greeted by pure bliss. Her knees seem to buckle, soon, though, and he moves by instinct to support her. “H-Hey, be careful, Lysithea!” 

It’s been so long, he notices, that she feels ever more delicate in his hands. Is it because they’re both older now? Further away from being kids, and no longer do most dare call them that anymore. 

“I’m... I’m fine, alright?” Lysithea gets out, doing her best to steady herself, but she really does rely on Cyril’s assistance. She’s not any better at lying, it seems. And this, why, it’s only an instant of reunion, and already he feels that, yeah, they can rely on each other once again. He likes it that way, it’s been missed. They’ve had their correspondence, but this is special; it’s own category all together. 

“I’m glad to hear it, but there’s no need to act tough.” She’s taken on at least four worlds by herself, so she can afford to give herself slack right here, where the Goddess blesses even now. This is the tower where refreshment can happen. It’s not a night of _ that _ anniversary, or a ball of any sort, but the air still fizzles with magic, just like it. 

She’s so close now. There’s nothing making her go away. 

“I... You know why I’m here, right?”

“Yeah, you wanted to formally tell the Pro-- Lady Byleth... that your family was giving up their territory, right?”

“Correct. My parents can finally be at peace with the rest of their lives, and I...”

_ Her parents, huh? What about her? _What does she want for herself, now that she’s been unshackled, given a new chance? Now that there’s renewed room to seize herself a new life.

“You?”

“I...”

“...Yeah, what do you want to do now that it’s yourself in rule.” 

His hands move from her shoulders to hold hers, and they’re still so very much like a princess’s. He sees the stars he adores so much in her eyes, and they glisten with each breath, staggering less and less than the last. The glowing strength in her smile blinds and he just can’t help himself from gripping just a bit tighter, so that there’s a promise in not ever losing her - not too much harder, though, because he doesn’t want to risk hurting her. It’s her, Lysithea, that uses her own press to squeeze back. It all comes back, the laughter, all their hard-working days, their studying. The cakes he tried while she made them to prove a point to Felix. Those times he walked her back to her room after she went out of it late because she wanted company - but everyone _ knew _ it was because she was afraid of something unexplained. 

Breathing, take a deep breath, two, three. They shift into all that is unsaid. They whisper this, and suddenly everything feels like it is known. That is the blessing that they are granted being so, so close to the sky. She nods, letting these strings stir and tangle them together. 

Once again, once again, the stars come to rain upon them, and this time, this time, there will be no room for regret, no room to let this pass. 

“Ya know, I’m real glad you’re here. It’s been so long! So, now that in front of me, there’s a lot I want to say to ya.” There is no voice other than Cyril’s. Nothing else will be heard, for this universe is just the two of them. “I gotta get it out. Lys, I’m in love with ya. I think I have been for a long, long time now. Maybe even since I first talked to ya. That’s why... That’s why, I got ya this,” he hesitantly releases one of her hands to pull out a ring. It’s a very humble one, made from his own hard work and guidance from a few others close to them. “There’s a lot words really can’t say, and I’m not really good at this, but... there’s a lot you’ve taught me, and I don’t want to lose that. I want to spend the rest of my life, however long that is, by your side, if you’ll have me.” 

“Cyril, I-”

“Wait! Before you say no, let me finish!” Cyril says quickly, “I thought you were my best friend. You still are. Sure, I talk to a lot of others now, but I’m most comfortable with you. I know I’m not anything noble, but if I can share the happiness you give me, then...” 

“Oh, would you let me speak? Cyril, I love you too!”

“Huh?”

“Our worlds aren’t so different!”

“They...” 

“Of course I’ll marry you! I’m still worried that I don’t have much longer but... everything... makes me that maybe I can live more. For me... with you.” 

“Lys, I...” He stops being able to think. He can’t believe it. His _ wife _ . Her _ husband! _ Real, named, tangible. He can grab it with his hands and place it within the confines of a paper, of a livelihood. Written and rewritten, again and again, forevermore. To that, he can only move to place the paper he prepared into her hand, and she - in return - gives him one too. Slowly, they both open the folded sheets. 

_ One, two... _

“I’m happy-”

“-that I’m here-”

“-with you.” 

The last line they finish, together. 

To that conclusion, he slides the ring onto her finger and it happens to be a good fit. Not perfect, but it’s nothing he can’t fix. Good thing Lorenz had a good memory and Hilda had good craft guidance. Closer and closer they get. Their foreheads touch. She’s so warm; she’s so very _ alive_. 

Hopefully everything really successful. 

Cyril has faith that it was. He wants to believe in this, more than anything. 

Surely, they’ll leave little notes for each other still, wherever they decide to live. That habit isn’t going to break - no, it’ll likely get more frequent, and stronger too. Cyril likes writing a lot, and he thinks, knows, that he’ll see Lysithea’s smile plenty when she’s reading them. Even though she’ll probably say it’s just him that makes her smile. He’ll make little dolls for her, and maybe they bake together too. All those letters unsent, unread, maybe they’ll be shared. 

This is the future he’s reached for, and she deserves it too. One where she’s certain she’s going to be allowed to be happy, to stay happy. And she’s... she’s going to be his wife! It doesn’t sound real at all! But reality is just like that, isn’t it? So vibrantly there, this ground moon that shines over the ocean and throughout the sky. It’s always been in the letters, in their actions, but it’s no longer a dream, no longer an awkward phrase. 

Even if the crest removal doesn’t fully guarantee her lifespan returned, since Professor Hanneman cannot entirely make a promise on research with only a single hypothesis test, Cyril will do his best to make sure he lives up to this swear of his. That’s what a _ knight _ is supposed to do for a princess, isn’t it? Stick with her and put her first, and of course -

-_ ensure her hap-hap-bappiness! _

**Author's Note:**

> eyyyyy it’s my explanation™ section so i can walk through some logistics of this. anyway, because lysithea in hanneman’s ending gets cured thanks to research, i figure there’s a combination of the sorts. especially since this is verdant wind-based and they go through that spoiler area (which is where edelgard and lysithea do their research in their crimson flower ending). 
> 
> anyway i also mention other supports having occurred (because it, uh, makes sense). clearly ashe was spared, which is why he’s mentioned for things that happen post-war phase. there are supports that are pre-time mentioned, but left ambiguous on whether the contents relate to post-time skip. either way, the most important thing circles around the main pair of this fic, so like?
> 
> the point is lysithea is indeed likely cured. it’s highly unlikely that this lasts without entire consequence, since that’s a big procedure, but hey, she’s out of being in war. as long as she gets a chance of living bappy, then things will make turns for the better, won’t they? 
> 
> another thing i do want to touch upon is the fact that i really want to make known that cyril has such genuine bounds. lysithea is proud of him, byleth is too.


End file.
